You Still Pull Me Home
by kate-dammit-run
Summary: A collection of one shots and drabbles, mostly from prompts on tumblr, mostly Jane/Kurt.
1. We Grow Towards the Light

**Summary** : Future fic. Established relationship Jane/Kurt. Jane really loves Sundays.

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Sunday afternoons in spring are her favourite. When they finally make it out of bed, _yes_ , in the afternoon, and he finds a spot on the lounger by the ceiling high windows overlooking the city, the sun sneaking in lazily. He sits there with a newspaper, enjoying the warm sunlight, usually in nothing more than a pair of pyjama pants, or shorts. She watches him from her spot in the kitchen as she makes coffee, the only thing she does better in the kitchen than he does.

She joins him then, two coffee mugs - matching Han Solo and Princess Leia mugs - a gift from Reade a few Christmases before - placed carefully on the small table next to the window and she settles between his legs, rests her back against chest, and he kisses her shoulder, clad in one of his shirts - she rarely wears anything else at home - usually the light blue one he was wearing the day they first met, it reminds her of what it felt the first time she knew what _safe_ meant, _what home meant._ They spend the next hour or so like that, wrapped in each other, reading the paper and solving the cross word puzzle together.

They eventually get up and get dressed early in the evening and go for a walk. They love the city then, when it enjoys a rare moment of quiet, the bustle of the midday crowds dying out, and the rush of the night crawlers yet to begin. They walk hand in hand through the urban jungle, a chance to experience this glorious city in a way they cannot during their day to day, when they're either speeding down the streets in an SUV or running madly through its chaos chasing criminals.

They eventually find a small coffee shop and sit down for a late lunch - early dinner - usually when her stomach growls loudly because they haven't eaten yet, not since the night before and they've completely forgotten. They order two dishes but always end up stealing each other's plate half way through. And sometimes they just grab something from their favourite deli and go to the park, find a quiet spot and spend the next few hours there. She loves those days. And so does he. Especially when she brings a book along. It's amazing watching her read all the classics, the ones she reads for the first time, and fall in love with them.

He watches her as she reads, lying down with her head in his lap. He spends the whole time just watching her, the way her eyes widen in shock, or she bites her lip in anticipation, or her eyes swell with unshed tears over fictional characters she's falling in love with. They've spent entire afternoons with her reading whole novels and him just watching her, and when she finishes, finally coming back to join him in reality, she smiles sheepishly at him, apologising that she's lost track of time but he just smiles back and shakes his head, tells her she has no idea how much he has enjoyed those three hours, lying down in the grass, with her head against his chest, watching her read. He kisses her then, softly, gently and it's more magical than all those kisses in those books she spends hours devouring.

After the sun sets, and the city comes back to life, they walk back home, hand in hand, and she cannot wait for Monday to come because that means another Sunday is just around the corner.


	2. I've Got My White Flag Up and Its Waving

**Summary:** AU / Taylor Shaw was never taken as child. She grew up next to the Wellers. She and Kurt dated, for a while, until it all turned to hell. They broke up and she left. Ten years later, she comes back.

* * *

 **I've Got My White Flag Up and It's Waving**

Taylor stepped onto the pavement, pausing for a moment to take a deep breath in. It felt so good to be back home, _so_ good. After almost a decade in Europe, Taylor was happy to finally be back home. The memories she'd left New York City with weren't the best, but they were right, time and distance did work as a balm, easing the pain and heart ache. Or so she thought.

She'd kept away for so long, severing all relationships and ties, not that she had that many. Her mom, her only family, had passed away a few years earlier. College friendships were always frail and destined to whither away. The only real relationship, the only person she left behind that she had had any real, meaningful history with had made it clear he was done.

His name was Kurt Weller. He was her next door neighbour as a child, her best friend growing up, and the first man she'd said those words to, those words she'd never said before, never said since. They'd fell madly in love, had a romance straight out of the novels. But they were young, naive, stubborn. And when they fought, they erupted, they exploded and they broke up in the most painful of ways. A few days later, she'd packed her bags and left, starting her life from nothing.

And she'd done well for herself, built a career, a successful one, built a life, made friends and had relationships. But nothing had been what she was looking for, no one was who she was waiting for. No one was Kurt.

And so, there she was, ten years later, once again, making up her life and moving across the world. She wasn't naive anymore, wasn't that little girl anymore, and she wasn't expecting to find him waiting for her at the airport, wasn't expecting to run back straight into his arms and pretend those ten years hadn't happened. Did a part of her hope she'd see him again? Of course. But she'd come to accept that he was a part of her past and that whatever she was moving back to wasn't him But she did miss _home_ whatever that was.

Some things held a familiarity no matter where she was in the world, summer rains, loud thunder, sunsets, the smell of coffee in the morning, the crackle of pebbles under her sneakers during her morning runs and the joyous voices of children as they played. And so she found herself easing back into life in New York by gravitating to familiar things. And there she was, one morning, a sunny Sunday, taking a moment of respite on a park bench after a long run. She sat down and watched the few children playing across from her. It was too early and there were only a couple of kids with a few parents standing by, holding tightly to their coffees, obviously unhappy at being up so early on a weekend.

All except one, a tall blond man, who was joyfully playing catch with who she assumed was his son, a boy of eight or nine, curly ginger hair and a toothless smile. She watched them for a while, the boy closer to her while his father stood farther down across the green. It wasn't until the man moved a bit closer, to pick up a loose ball, and spoke loudly that she felt her heart stop pounding her chest. She's recognise that voice anywhere, recognise that heart warming laugh anywhere. It was Kurt Weller. It was unmistakably him. A bit older, a bit more weight around his waist, but he still looked good, handsome. And for a moment she forgot how to breathe.

Ten years were supposed to be long enough for her to forget. Ten years were supposed to be long enough for her to move on.

Ten years weren't enough.

She watched for a bit longer, feeling her chest tighten with every laugh they shared, with every teasing remark he shared with his _son._ When it got too much, she got up and left. And that night she cried. For the first time in almost a decade, she thought of Kurt Weller as she lay in bed, and she cried.

They weren't there the following Sunday. Or the one after that. And Taylor thought maybe Kurt was divorced, maybe he did not have full custody of his son. And that hurt even more, that Kurt couldn't spend more time with his son, or so it seemed, and from what she had seen, he loved him very much. And he looked like he was good father. A _great_ father. Of course he would be, she thought to herself.

She saw them again three weeks later, and as she ran past them, she felt her heart beating even faster in her chest. She tried not to stare, forced herself to keep on running, and running, until the pain she felt in her muscles masked the one in her chest.

She saw them again the following week. And the one after, and a new wave of heartache passed over her as she thought that maybe her initial theory of him being divorced may be wrong.

She didn't know why she kept doing that to herself, the constant torture. There were more than enough parks in the city for her to run somewhere that didn't have her going back home and crying. But still ,she found herself gravitating back to that park, back to the exact time every Sunday, and keeping an eye out for him. She tried to tell herself to be happy for him. He looked happy. She kept reminding herself that it had been ten years, that it had been her who packed her bags and left the country. He didn't owe her anything.

She started work a few weeks after that, and that kept her busy. She drowned herself straight away, taking on case after case, impressing her new bosses. Let them be impressed, let them think I fucking love this job, she thought, better than them knowing I'm nursing a ten year old heart break. And she stopped going to the park. She stopped giving in to the invisible pull, to those invisible strings that never seem to have severed, the strings that tied her to the blue eyed boy next door.

She'd forgotten how harsh and unrelenting the winter were in New York, and as much as she loved this city, the unforgiving winter was something she'd never learned to cope with. She stood on the side walk, rubbing her glove clad hands, blowing into them to warm them up, as she waited her turn at the hot dog vendor's. She knew it wasn't the best choice for a healthy lunch, but it was quick and efficient and with her work load, those were enough reasons to go for the questionably cheap street food.

New York was loud city by nature, but every now and then, even that bustling every day noise was punctured by something different. And as she stood there, she heard screaming coming from down the street, loud voices yelling, people screaming.

"Move! MOVE! OUT OF THE WAY!"

"FBI! GET OUT OF THE WAY!"

And then a large, heavy set man was coming straight at her. With no time to react, Taylor took a heavy hit, the man crashing straight into her, sending her flat on her back, knocking her out. And she didn't know what happened after that, being unconscious as the two agents arrested the man in question.

The next thing she remembered was someone saying her name and opening her eyes to stare straight into the blue that had haunted her for ten years.

"Kurt?" she said, trying to sit up, and his arms were quickly around her, as though they had never left, and he lifted her up, helped her back on her feet.

"It is you," he said, his hand going around to inspect her head injury, "You've cut your hair."

She stood there, speechless, slightly shocked that the first words he would say to her after ten years were those. She nodded slowly and before she could say anything, there were two paramedics guiding her away, away from him, and taking her to an ambulance.

He showed up at the hospital almost immediately and she could see him, pacing outside the room where they had her, a doctor checking on her. I'm fine! she wanted to scream at him. She just wanted to leave, to get out, to get away from him. One painful injury a day was enough for her.

But she wasn't to get out of it so easily because the moment the doctor stepped out, Kurt was in her room. And he stood there, just a few feet away from her, the distance between them suddenly occupied by ten years. Ten years, thousands of miles, and a thousand broken promises, a thousand arguments, and infinite regrets.

And neither said a word for what felt like an eternity.

And then he finally did.

"I like it," he said, "your hair… I like it short."

 _Screw you,_ she thought, _I didn't cut it for you._

"Thanks," she whispered, unconsciously lifting her hand to tuck a strand behind her ear.

Another heavy silence fell between them and he didn't stop staring at her.

 _Don't you have a wife at home?_ She wanted to remind him, and her gaze fell to his hand, in search of a ring, but his hand were shoved deep in his pockets.

"You came back," he said and to that she could only nod. "How long have you been back?"

She shrugged, suddenly feeling like that stubborn naive girl she thought she'd left behind, "a couple of months."

"Why… why didn't you…" he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and she could see that vein throbbing in his neck. "I've mis-"

The door to the room suddenly swung open, a blond nurse on the other side, her eyes only on Kurt. "Are you ok?" she said worriedly, "they told you were here -"

"Yeah, yeah, Sarah, I'm fine, I…" Kurt said, and Taylor suddenly recognised the other woman. She was one of the few people she'd left behind too, Kurt's younger sister, Sarah.

Sarah realised that the person who was _in_ the hospital was not her brother but rather… she turned to look at the patient and her eyes widened in complete shock. "Taylor?"

Taylor nodded, and before she knew it, Sarah had crossed the room and wrapped her in a tight embrace, and she was quickly reminded of why she'd always loved Sarah.

Sarah wasn't one to hold grudges, or let arguments, fights or anything like that get in her way. She truly let bygones be bygones. Taylor had abandoned her like she had Kurt, well not exactly, but she had left without saying good bye, but Sarah didn't seem to care because here she was hugging her old friend, honestly, genuinely and telling her how good she looked, how much she had missed her and how great it was that she'd come back.

She also knew better than to over stay her welcome. She quickly excused herself and made her way to exit. But not before pausing in front of Kurt for a moment. "You sure you don't mind watching Sawyer tonight? If you can't I'll call the si-"

"Don't worry, I got it," he said with a smile.

"Sawyer?" Taylor asked, not sure why.

Sarah looked back towards her and beamed. "My son," she said, walking back towards Taylor, showing her the back ground image on her phone. An eight year old boy with curly ginger hair and a toothless smile.

"Why'd you leave?" Kurt blurted out the moment Sarah stepped back out the door.

And even though she'd had ten years to think about it, to analyse it, him asking her that pissed her off.

"Why didn't you come after me?" she replied. They were both still very stubborn.

He crossed his arms over his chest, feet planted squarely under him. He still hadn't moved from his spot by the door.

"I didn't know you wanted me to," he admitted. And it was her turn to cross her arms.

"Why _did_ you leave?" he asked again.

"You made it clear that -"

"I never said I wanted you to leave," he huffed, obviously ten years weren't long enough for him either, the wound still as sensitive as it had been back then.

"You never said you wanted me to stay either," she said.

He started to move then, baby step towards where she sat. Silently he walked towards her, his boots squeezing against the sterile hospital floor.

He stood in front of her, fingers itching to reach over and touch her, her knees brushing his thighs. He looked at her, really looked at her, and _God_ she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. In her eyes he saw the mischievous five year old girl from next door, the one who climbed trees and hid from her mother in his tree house. He saw the shy teenager, walking down the stairs wearing a dress for the first time, awkwardly smiling at him as he waited to take her to the dance. He saw the fiery college student, the wild girl who'd convinced him to go to a concert four hours away the day before his big final, the girl who'd spent the entire concert sitting on his shoulder, and he didn't once complain. He saw the young woman who stayed up three nights in a row studying for her bar exam. The woman he'd held close at night, who fit perfectly in her arms, the first time he'd said those three words.

He had to touch her then, his hand finding hers, timidly almost.

"You were the only thing I had," she whispered, "and when you were gone, I had nothing left. I had no reason to stay. I had… I had to leave."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, tightening his grip on her hand, "I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I'm sorry… _so_ sorry."

She leaned forward, "I'm sorry, too."

"I missed you."


	3. I Died The Day You Disappeared

Based on a prompt from violetflipflops

 **I Died the Day You Disappeared, _So Why Would You Be Welcome Here?_**

"So, just to be clear, you report to a polygraph twice a week, and you meet with Dr. Borden three times a week. No more sneaking out. You need something, you need to go somewhere, you tell your detail, or anyone from the team," Mayfair's voice was stern, unrelenting, "and we're moving you to another location, and we'll keep moving you every two weeks until we've found this guy."

Jane had told them everything that had happened to her, from the abduction, to the torture to the mysterious rescuer and the revealing video. She'd considered lying, that was what Oscar had suggested, but i the short time she'd been part of this world, she knew one thing for certain, she could trust Kurt Weller, and by extension his team. So she went for the truth, even if it meant she would lose his trust once it had been exposed.

Mayfair continued breaking down her new list of conditions with regards to keeping Jane part of the team, something she had not expected would happen. It was a strict set of regulations, but it was better than being locked up in a cell, which was what Jane had initially expected.

"Is everything clear?" Mayfair said once she'd exhausted her list, arms crossed over her chest. Jane nodded, "yes, ma'am," she said, still in shock she wasn't being led away into a maximum security prison right then. "Good," Mayfair said, "report to your detail and head on back home. Get some rest. I expect you back here at 0700." Mayfair turned to the rest of team gathered around the conference table. "Everyone else as well, go home and back here tomorrow morning. Things just got way more complicated," she said and everyone got up to leave without a word, without questioning her decisions. "Weller, I need you to stay here for a few more minutes," she said, and he half expected her to, unable to hide the disgruntled look on his face the entire meeting, unable to meet anyone's looks for the past two hours.

They silently waited for the rest of the team to leave and once they were gone, out of the room and out of ear shot, Mayfair turned to him, "have a seat." He fell into the seat, a heavy thud, a grumpy frown etched on his face. "You have problem with my decision," she said.

Kurt Weller may be a hard man to read, but he was slowly realising there a handful of people who could read him like an open book. Bethany Mayfair was one of them. Weller crossed his arms and sulked further into his seat, more like a disgruntled teenager than an FBI special agent. "If you have problem with it, you can talk to me, you know," she added.

"Would I be able to change your mind?" he asked and she just shook her head, "you're the boss," he mumbled.

"That's true," she replied to his slight insubordination, moving to sit next to him, "Kurt, I know recent events, and recent discoveries have given you much reason to not trust, to not trust my judgement, but I need you to try and look at this objectively, try to look at it from my point of view, not from yours."

Weller sat in silence for a moment. She was right, he knew it, but it was his name on Jane's back, not hers. "Do you want to be taken off the case?" her question came as a shock to him. She wasn't actually offering him this again, was she?

"You know that's not an option, especially not now," Weller said, "my name's on her back, for one reason or another, it's there and we both know that is still as much a mystery as any of her other tattoos. Now more than ever," he said.

Mayfair nodded, "then what's the problem?"

Weller huffed, a dry laugh escaping his throat. Was she really going to make him say it?

"The problem is… my name's tattooed on her back. My name. She chose me. She picked me for a reason. She… _used_ me," he finally confessed, looking away unable to meet her gaze.

"That's not-" "That's exactly what it is!" he snapped, the anger at this revelation, the anger he'd been burying for the past twenty four hours finally coming to the surface.

"You don't know that for sure, maybe there's another reason," Mayfair tried to calm him down.

Weller got up, pushing his chair back harder than he'd intended, "Well, I guess we'll never know now," he said as he headed for the door.

"Weller," Mayfair called after him.

"Don't worry, I'll be here at 0700," he said, "I guess I've been woven into this case forever, whether I like it or not."

 _Two Weeks Later_

"The drop should happen anywhere between the next thirty six to forty eight hours," Patterson explained as Weller and Jane continued to pack supplies into their bags. "The chopper will drop you down here," she said pointing to clearing not he map, "you'll need about eight to twelve hours to hike to the drop location, depending on the weather," she added, "and if you need to camp out, there are these three locations, they'd be safest to spend the night without being noticed."

"Are you guys ready?" Reade asked walking into the room, Weller and Jane nodded. "Good, plane's ready. Be careful, you guys."

The ride to the airfield was quiet, as had been most of their alone moments lately. It wasn't because either of them was pushing the other away. It was just the way it was, quiet, awkward, filled with so many questions neither was ready to ask, neither ready to hear the answer to. They settled into the plane, side by side, the silence still the most prominent presence between them.

If Jane hated flying during the day, she realised she very much despised it when it was pith black outside. Her fingers dug deeper and deeper into the arm rest, pretty sure she was leaving permanent indentations in the leather. Weller heard her gasp, her breath shaking as she gripped the arm rest even tighter, could feel her shake next to him.

 _I know you're pissed, and you have every right to be, but you don't need to be an ass to her. She's still the same Jane from last week, the same Jane you've been making stupid love struck eyes at,_ he recalled Zapata's words from earlier that week. They'd been out drinking after work, and if he wasn't just a bit drunk, and if she hadn't been absolutely right, he'd given her a piece of his mind. But he knew she was right. Of course she was right.

He shut his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath, the utter fear she was feeling breaking at the last bit of his stubbornness. Silently, he reached over, grabbing her hand gently in his. Keeping his eyes fixed ahead, still not ready to turn and face the fear in her green eyes, knowing that would be the last straw for him, making him reach for her and wrap her in his arms, he squeezed her hand softly, calmly and squeezed back.

She turned to him, knowing he won't meet her gaze, but seeking the comfort in just looking at his face. It was a huge step forward in their somewhat frayed relationship. A lot had changed in the past two weeks, most it being in the relationship between her and Kurt. She knew when she kissed him o note sidewalk all those evenings ago, that things won't be the same again, but this was not what she had in mind. Too many nights since then she'd taken comfort in that memory, of the brief moment when all else ceased to exist, all the rules enforced on them by their situation, the baggage and history, the boundaries, all the flashing lights that there was a line they should not cross, that moment when they were just them, Kurt and Jane, two people giving in to an undeniable attraction, two people falling victim to and inexplicable link and pulling them to each other, a force stronger than either of them and both of them.

They spent the rest of the flight in silence, again, but he never let go of her hand until they'd landed, and once on the chopper, he'd again taken her hand in his, even before they were airborne. A short trip and they were in the woods, an eight hour hike awaiting them, a hike also mostly spent in silence, bar the necessary conversation. But then came the most dreaded part of the mission. Night time, having to make camp and spend the next handful of hours alone. Together.

They chose one of the locations that Patterson had identified and Kurt was quick to start a fire. Jane on the other hand busied herself with getting some of their supplies out of her pack. It wasn't exactly gourmet meals, but it was basics that would get them through the next part of their mission. She prepared two portions and walked over to him, silently handing it to him. She sat down next to him, not too close but not exactly far away. They ate quietly as the darkness landed around them.

"If you want to sleep, I'll take the first watch," Jane said when she saw him yawn.

"It's ok, I'll take the first watch," he replied.

"No, really, I'm fine to-"

"I got it," he replied curtly, shrinking back slightly when he saw the hurt look on her face.

"You don't trust me anymore," she said after a moment, hurt evident in her voice, but also a stubbornness that was always there.

"I'm here, aren't I?" he replied.

"Because Mayfair ordered you to," she argued.

"I could've walked away from the case if I wanted to," he said, turning their argument into a obstinate bull fight.

"Why didn't you?" she countered.

"Because you put my name on your back!" he said, his voice rising slightly into the thick night.

She pulled back at that, suddenly out of ammunition in the conversation.

They sat quietly then, again, before he looked to her and asked, "Why me?"

His question took her aback. She'd been expecting it. From the moment she told them about the video, she'd expected that to be his first question for her. And even then, even after weeks of preparation, she still had no answer.

She shook her head then. "I don't know," she whispered her admission.

He huffed and looked away, staring into the fire in front of him. "Was it like with the Russians?" he asked, "did you study me? Look for my weaknesses? Figured out how to get to me? What the easiest way to get to me was? To use me for your endgame?" he accused her and she could only shake her head at it.

"No, no, Kurt, I…" she said, "I…"

"You don't know," he finished her thought for her, "I know… you don't know."

"Kurt," she urged with him, begged him to turn to her, to look at her and see how sincere she was.

"Does he know?" he asked her then, finally turning back towards her. And she didn't need to ask who _he_ was. "Does he know why it's me? Does he have a file on me somewhere? Pictures of my family? Psyche reports? Career history? Did you spend hours with him vetting me? Planning how to turn me into your puppet?"

His words were hateful, laced with anger and heart ache. But she knew Kurt Weller had no malice in him. She _knew_ Kurt Weller, not because she's studied him and analysed him. She knew Kurt Weller because she knew the man in front of him. Because she'd gotten to know him for who he truly was. And she knew that no analytic study of him, no rational vetting and research will allow anyone to know him like she knew him now.

"Kurt," she said gently, her voice calm, soothing, as she silently prayed that she would be able to get beyond his walls get beyond the hurt and pain she'd caused.

"Kurt," she said again and moved slightly closer to him, "I don't know why she chose you. I don't know what process she went through to pick you, to single you out or to decide that it was your name that needed to be tattooed on her back or why you were the only person who should handle this," she spoke tenderly, "but if it were me, if I had this secret, this burden to carry, this devastating truth that I needed help carrying, that I needed someone to share it with me, then I'd still choose you. And it's not about your past, or your demons, or manipulating you or using you. That's not what this is about, Kurt, not at all."

He listened to her intently, taking in her every word and she moved even closer to her. "I would choose you Kurt because you are honest and trustworthy. You're sincere and righteous. You work harder than anyone I've ever met, and I know I've not many people in my time back in this world, but I can already tell there are not many like you. You're a good man, Kurt, a genuinely good man. You don't stand for injustice, or corruption. You're a man of your word, your incorruptible, you're kind and caring."

He kept silent during her confession, and when she reached for him, he didn't pull back, allowing her to hold his hand in hers. "I'm sorry it had to be this way, but if I had to do this again, and again and again, I know in my heart, that it would always be you that I would choose to do this with. I cannot imagine anyone else. And I'm sorry that you were thrust into this without your consent, I'm sorry you're a victim in all of this, but you have to know the you're the right man for the job. No one else would be able to do it."

He squeezed her hand then, twisting his palm in hers and intertwining their fingers. "I wouldn't want any one else by my side through this," she confessed.

At that he closed the gap between them, sitting shoulder to shoulder with her and smiled, softly whispering to her, "there's no where else I'd rather be, either."


	4. I Don't Want to Fight This War Anymore

**Summary:** Spoiler fic based on that heartbreaking 20 second clip from 1.11 / Angst / Jane confronts Weller after being abducted by Carter and finding out the truth from Oscar

 **I Don't Want to Fight This War,** ** _I Don't Want to Fight Anymore_**

I tear my eyes away from the screen just long enough to let him know I need him to play it again, and he does, without a word, for the tenth time in a row. And he continues to sit there in silence as I watch in disbelief. Her face, her voice, her words... I've memorised them by now but they still seem foreign even though she looks like, she sounds like me. She is me. But still, she's a stranger. A stranger who wiped my memory and covered me in tattoos. A stranger who sent me to Kurt Weller.

Kurt. I allow my myself to think of him for just a split second, before I turn back to the man in front of me. 'Again?' He asks but this time I shake my head. I need to get out of here. Now. I'm wet and cold but that's not the reason I cannot breathe. I need to get out of here.

I tell him to untie me and he does so, almost instinctually, almost as though he's lived a life obey my orders and I wonder what more we were before. What he and the woman in that video were.

He releases the last of the ropes that had me strapped down and I launch myself at him, fuelled by the rage, by the fear, and with surprise on my side, I send him on his back before he realises what is going on, and I run out of the place. I am acutely aware of Carter's body on my way out, or of the two other agents, and I pray that Oscar has the foresight to get rid of the bodies instead of coming after me.

I don't want to go back to the safe house, I want to go to him, to Kurt, but I know that I cannot do that. Not now, not looking like this. I try to think straight as I run through the cold evening, my lungs burn, my muscles ache, and I study every possible scenario of what could happen next. I know Oscar knows where my safe house is but I cannot go anywhere looking like this, not anywhere where I won't be interrogated, even if it by well meaning friends.

I find myself at the safe house, sneaking in just enough to change out of my wet clothes, and then I'm back out, casually strolling towards my detail. I've decided Patterson is the one to go to, under the pretence of being worried about her, not wanting her to spend the night alone. Even if Oscar follows me there, he is not stupid enough to confront in the home of an FBI agent. I hope.

I ask the guys to stop for pizza on the way, and I try to keep this as casual as possible. Friends do things like that, right? And it works, the evening goes as planned. Patterson cries and talks about David and I try to remember to be the woman I was a few hours ago, not the one burdened by these secrets and lies. I try not to think of Kurt, of what I am going to tell him tomorrow, of how I am going to be able to look him in the eye tomorrow, especially after what happened earlier tonight.

The first thing I do the next morning is go to Mayfair's office. I need her to relocate me. I am sure Oscar will be find me again, but it will take him some time and I need at least one night where I don't feel violated. I cannot tell her the truth, obviously, and as I stand outside her office, watching her have a heated debate with Zapata, I think of all the possible ways I can twist this. I watch Tasha for a moment, and she looks different, defeated, and I wonder what could have happened last night with her. How one night can change everything. I for one know way too much about this. My life a few hours ago versus my life now. I allow myself to think back to Carter, what he did and what he could have done. And for a moment, I wish he'd had a chance to do more. What little he did had worked, it had sparked a new memory. If he was allowed to do more, who knows what would have been revealed to me. Not that what was revealed wasn't shocking enough. I wonder what Dr. Borden would make of this, the idea of using torture to induce memories. I wonder how Kurt would feel about that if I told him.

I focus back on what I am going to tell Mayfair. I can tell her I don't feel safe, that I feel I'm being watched. My security detail won't be able to verify that, obviously, but they haven't noticed me sneaking out for weeks. I can tell Mayfair that, too, I can discredit them.

I scold myself then. These are good men, good agents, why would I want to sabotage their careers like that?

It goes as planned with Mayfair, she buys it, without any questions, and I wonder if that was what she had planned, for me to become embedded within this team, within the FBI that my loyalty, my integrity is never questioned. I hate what she's done to me. I hate what she's doing to me even now. She is still controlling this game, controlling me. And I cannot come to terms with the undeniable fact that she is me. That I am her. Especially not now, as I walk towards Kurt.

I feel the first stab, deep and shattering, when his eyes find mine, when he smiles and I fail to return it. I ask for a moment in private and he leads me to his office. And I cannot stop thinking of last night, of his hand on my cheek, in my hair, of his lips against mine. That had been all real, the only real I've felt since waking up in Times Square, and I brace myself to ruin it all.

I cannot tell him the truth and I find myself using David's death as an excuse. Patterson would hate me if she knew. I hate me for doing this. I appeal to his nature to care about people, try to find an excuse there to stop following my tattoos. If I cannot tell him the truth than at least I can keep him away from finding out. My intentions are selfish, I know, but I cannot do this to him, to any of them. But my plan backfires, he uses the same argument against me, reminds me of all the good we've done and for a moment I cannot look at him, not when he reminds me that even if we are not serving the greater, then the case remains of who did this to me, and I can't breathe then. If only he knew. Only, he can never know.

I suddenly cannot breathe again, I look at him briefly and reminded of how fucked up all this is. It's all her fault. It's all my fault. And if I cannot tell him the whole truth, then I can tell him part of it. I cannot do this to you anymore. I cannot hurt you. I would not be able to live with myself if anything happens to you because it is on me, it is all on me.

I wonder what she would think of me doing this now. All that she did, all the sacrifices that she made, leaving the man she loved, erasing her whole life, risking everything for this to work and here I am, not blinking once as I am ready to throw it all away, all her sacrifices, everything she had to do. I do not care about all of it, about her, about me, about my past. She made her sacrifices and I am willing to make mine, to keep him safe.

But his answer is not what I am looking for but everything I expect from the man I've come to know the last few months. And I understand now why she picked him. And I look away from him for a moment because no, he doesn't, he doesn't know what he has signed up for. I need to tell him that, take him in my arms and yell at him that no, he doesn't what he has gotten himself into. I need him for once to think pf himself, to be selfish, to not be so willing to put his own life on the line for others, for me.

I wonder when it happened, when we became more than a victim, an asset and her lead agent. Was it when he placed my hand over his heart or when I did the same? Was it on the plane coming back from capturing Guerrero, when just the feel of skin on mine made me forget the sickening shaking of the plane? Or was it when we went undercover together, when he almost beat up a guy for touching me, when he held me close on the dance floor and finally let me in? Or was it on the sidewalk outside his house last night?

He's looking at me, confusion stitched on his face, and I know he knows something must have happened between our meeting last night and now. And I find myself thinking of Oscar now. I've witnessed his loyalty for the mission, his loyalty to her but I cannot help wondering if that loyalty stems from his commitment to her or the mission itself. Would he put his own life on the line for her? For me? Would he do what Kurt would? Jumping in with his eyes closed?

I turn from him then, not wanting him to see the tears as they threaten to spill. I just want him to be safe, why can't he see that? I think of how far I am willing to take this. I can go to Mayfair, tell her I want him off my case. I can go to Dr. Borden, tell him I am uncomfortable working with Kurt. And I make myself sick at the thought, at how easily I am contemplating lying, manipulating. And I realise that I am becoming her, and I realise how natural the transition is happening, how comfortably I am falling back into being her, the woman in that video. And I can't, I just can't become her. I don't want to become her, but I cannot think of any other way to keep him safe.

Without another word, I turn my back and walk away, hoping that maybe one day he can understand.

Maybe one day he can forgive me. But for now, I will have to live with the decisions she made and the decisions I have to make.


End file.
